


The MacDonald Chronicles

by Candipeach26



Category: Bodyguard (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst, BAMF David Budd, Dirty Thoughts, F/M, Humor, Male tears, Pining, Revenge, Romance, Sexual Content, Unrequited longing, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, all the tension, extreme jealousy, sexy bodyguard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2019-11-28 17:42:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18211511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Candipeach26/pseuds/Candipeach26
Summary: Julia *did* things to him.  Drove him absolutely crazy.For the sake of his sanity, Rob knew something had to change between them, and soon.  Hell, she was probably feeling it too—the anticipation, the intensity of fresh attraction, the heat between them kindled anew with each encounter.  What kind of a man was he, to make her suffer just as much as he was?Enough already.----Or, the story of how Rob MacDonald finally makes his move...and is brutally cockblocked by the likes of Police Sergeant David Budd of the Metropolitan Police Department.





	1. Chapter 1

**The MacDonald Chronicles  
**

Author's Notes:  Welcome!  I can't seem to get quite enough of this fandom or this show. The hilarity of watching Rob's envy grow over those early episodes always gives me life, so I figured I'd explore the budding relationship between David and Julia through the wonderfully pathetic lens of Rob's blatant insecurities.  Yes, there will be male tears.  Consider yourself warned.  Rated Mature for some language and sexual content, especially in later chapters.  Rob's more intrinsic thoughts are in italics.

Please do enjoy. There's much, MUCH more to come. :)

All credit for the characters, situations, and a bit of the dialogue present goes to the the brilliant Jed Mercurio, creator of Bodyguard.

 

**_Chapter 1_ **

_\-----_

_This should be easy._

He runs an unbothered hand through his dark curls before giving a firm tug to his suit jacket, Tom Ford’s finest setting him back a bit but practically doing all the work for him.  Sharp, cool, calm, intelligent.  Best in his class at Harrow, excelled at Oxford, incredible references. He was the absolute epitome of success.  And, truth be told, he also looked damn good that day. Sometimes, humility was an entirely overrated attribute.

_The Right Honorable Julia Montague shall be quite impressed, indeed._

Rob allows himself a quick wink and satisfied smirk in the mirror of the men’s room before retrieving his expensive leather case from beneath the vanity and making an unhurried exit to the waiting room.

\----

He got the job.

Naturally.

\----

Julia Montague had been a hero of sorts to him, long before he’d stepped into his role as her advisor.  Fiercely ambitious and incredibly smart, her weaponized diatribes and incisive use of the law as a criminal barrister were legendary among the pre-law students at Oxford.  It wasn’t at all surprising that she’d quickly risen in the ranks of Parliament, first as an MP and then successfully campaigning to become the second-youngest Home Secretary ever appointed.  To say he was enamored of her solely based on accomplishments alone was an understatement.

And then he met her. 

And promptly fell in love, which he hadn’t anticipated at all.

“Rob MacDonald, is it? Shall we get down to work?”

Lovely hazel eyes regarded him levelly, deep set and framed by long lashes.  Her heart-shaped face was unlined, smooth and pale, crimson lips pursed slightly as she held out her hand for him to shake.  He took her small, strong hand in his, feeling lightheaded all of a sudden, hoping that the flush he felt creeping up his face wasn’t at all visible.

_Shit…_

If Julia noticed his moment of lust-induced crisis, she said nothing, breaking their contact effortlessly before gesturing for him to sit.  She moved past him to return to her chair, the sultry scent of her perfume teasing Rob’s senses in her wake, and he felt some incredible sensation surge to life low in his abdomen…

Butterflies? Arousal?

Neither were an option right now.

_Shit!_

_FOCUS._

“…My apologies for not sitting in on your hiring meeting; I trust Mike has selected the best person for the job…”

He felt quite sure she was saying something to him, something no doubt much more important than the sight of her leaning forward over her desk, the silk lapels of her blue blouse parting in just the right way, exposing the long line of her elegant neck and draped over the soft curve of bosoms—

“and there will be several evenings where I will require your assistance with preparatory materials…”

_Whatever you wish, Julia.  Anything.  Everything.  Yes._

“…for the moment, let’s definitely plan on tonight and tomorrow evening in order to get you up to speed…”

_Yes, Julia._

_Indeed._

_What a goddess._

* * *

 

Climbing into the black cab on shaky legs later that evening, Rob was certain of two things as he made his way to his her flat.

One: that Julia Montague was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. 

Bar none.  _Bloody hell._

And two:  that he was, albeit slightly, just enough out of her league to make him nervous.

Hence the butterflies.  And the arousal.  And the…well, accompanying discomfort of his trousers since their meeting earlier.  He’d half a mind to stop at his flat, take the longest, coldest shower imaginable, and switch to a looser set of trousers before heading over, but he wouldn’t dare be late for his first dat—ahem, work engagement with her.

Not that she’d ever go for a workplace relationship.  He knew types like her:  accomplished, haughty, proud, out to prove themselves in a male-dominated world at any cost.

And if she came across as a frigid bitch, then so be it.Women like Julia didn’t apologize for being cutthroat or scathingly direct.  He’d seen her sharp tongue in action ( _oooh, Rob, back away from that thought)_ in the chambers, during Parliament sessions, and even in the office today as she dressed down her hapless assistant right in front of him for presenting the wrong documents for the second time that day.

Her withering glare should’ve really served to cut him down by proxy, should’ve served as a warning to him never to piss her off, should’ve taken the edge off the erection he’d been sporting and trying desperately to hide for the better part of the workday.

And yet, it did the exact opposite.

The thing was, Rob loved a good challenge.  There were few he couldn’t conquer.

And wooing Julia, doing everything in his power to make her see him as a worthy mate?

May not be easy at first…but it was only a matter of time.

* * *

 

A month in. 

He was sure he was wearing her down, bit by bit, chipping away at her defenses.

He had to be.

Surely she wanted him by now.  He knew the signs.

By their second…engagement, she’d offered him a glass of wine.  They shared a moment as Rob demonstrated his immense knowledge, having worked as a sommelier during his time in school. Julia smiled at him before offering a mock toast, gorgeous eyes crinkling slightly at the corners and making Rob’s heart skip several beats.

_Jesus Christ._

* * *

 

Two months in. 

They were clearly becoming friends, and it was also becoming obvious to Rob that Julia was going out of her way to invite him over most nights.

For one thing, she’d likely starve herself working these long nights alone.  Julia had confessed her lifelong aversion to cooking, alluding to a former marriage arrangement wherein her ex-husband actually didn’t mind taking on the task.  Evidently he was useless in every other area, if her rueful remark soon thereafter was any indication.  Rob put on an appropriately sympathetic expression, all the while celebrating internally at gaining this latest tidbit of personal information from his normally no-nonsense boss.

_She trusts me.  She really does._

He’d suggested bringing in takeaway from his favorite restaurant, which quickly became her favorite suggestion for takeaway as well.  He knew her usual: double-roasted duck and prawn crackers, and he even took the liberty of selecting a wine from his collection to compliment her meal each time.

Rob loved watching her relax in her soft cashmere sweaters, silky curls loosening after a long day and framing her face sweetly, gently sucking sauce from her fingers before reaching for her glass of wine and smiling with genial gratitude in his direction.  He regarded her almost shyly in the husky light of her den, feeling that special warmth in his chest expand as he imagined soon being at her side without a coffee table dividing them, no job titles requiring them to hold their feelings back from each other, being allowed to hungrily ravish her at will and her eager responses in that sexy, posh accent spurring him on…

“Rob?  You’re looking a bit dazed there…perhaps we’ll slow down on the wine and begin to work?” Julia suggested, her normally serious gaze seeming to hold the faintest hint of amusement.

_Right. Yes.  Work.  Okay._

He cleared the table silently, heat burning high in his cheeks as he wondered how long the torment would last.

* * *

 

Five months in.

Tonight was it, as far as Rob was concerned.

It was now or never.  Career be damned, job be damned.

He simply couldn’t take it anymore.

He’d hardly been sleeping lately.  The stress of being Julia’s special advisor was enough as it is: the RIPA ’18 bill causing almost nonstop controversy everywhere they turned, the whisper campaign in the halls of Parliament regarding Julia’s fast ascension to power and the likelihood of her all-too-obvious bid for Prime Minister looming over all proceedings.  Rob had been working 16-hour days for weeks, securing platforms for speeches, conducting meticulous research, coordinating the team in a bid to operate as efficiently as possible, to appear as flawlessly sharp and confident as their leader. 

Everything had to be perfect. 

And Julia herself: the ever-imperious, impossibly beautiful Julia Montague, leading the charge with her strident voice and commanding presence, taking on all comers and slaying those in her path day by day. She was fiery, passionate, on her game in every way, hardly breaking a sweat as she dispatched their opposition with fierce, effective precision. 

To say it turned Rob on was the understatement of the millennium. 

He watched it all, loved watching his Julia vanquish the competition, shared her smirk as some poor hapless MP dared present their weak rebuttals in her wake.  She was the It Girl, the darling of the press, the anointed one that every government official in the UK wanted a piece of.  The frenzy around her grew by the day, the security detail became more and more elaborate, and Julia worked non-stop, tirelessly giving everything she had to her constituency, her party mates, the country at large.

And by night, she was his again. 

In the shadowed, cozy confines of her den. Their suit jackets tossed aside and forgotten. The wine decanted, poured, sipped pensively throughout the evening. Their disciplined, complementary style of working in tandem with each other freely punctuated by lighter moments of laughter, of a warmth that few likely knew Julia to be capable of.

Rob knew.  And he basked in it, delighted in making her smile.  He’d already maxed out one credit card buying her wines to add to her collection, and would max out 10 more if it meant catching a glimpse of that lovely dimple in her right cheek, or hearing the rich lilt of her laughter fill the room, or watching those keen hazel eyes light up as she spied a new vintage tucked beneath his arm.

“Rob, I keep telling you not to go through such trouble…”

Once, she’d reached out and touched his shoulder while speaking those very sentiments, and he’d nearly dropped the bottle, blushing furiously and cursing himself.  Pathetic, he knew. 

But she **did** things to him.  Drove him absolutely crazy.

For the sake of his sanity, Rob knew something had to change between them, and soon.  Hell, she was probably feeling it too—the anticipation, the intensity of fresh attraction, the heat between them kindled anew with each encounter.  What kind of a man was he, to make her suffer just as much as he was? 

_Enough already._

Rob strode into the Home Office building that morning with new resolve, purpose in his stride, confidence in the very tilt of his chin as he greeted the staff.  Julia nodded her good morning to him before turning on her heel to head into the conference room; he followed, feeling the secret thrill of his plan unfold in his mind while watching his boss intently, enjoying the way her mouth moved as she detailed their latest priorities.  She bowed her head momentarily, one curly tendril falling forward and framing her brow in a most alluring manner, and Rob couldn’t stop the sigh that escaped him at the sight, feeling his fingers twitch with the need to gently brush the rogue tress back into place.

_Time to put them both out of this silent, maddening misery._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second verse, same as the first...Rob's personal thoughts in italics. A mini-chapter wherein things get pretty interesting. Or messy, depending on where you sit. Poor Rob. ;)
> 
> As always, credit to the incredible Jed Mercurio for all things Bodyguard. Thanks for reading!

* * *

 

_He’d make his move at last._

Rob mused idly, weaving his way through the late afternoon traffic.  Biking through London usually required a lot more attention than he was granting it at the moment; however, he couldn’t help but be expectant and excited about the night to come.

_She’d respect his boldness, his charm.  The elegant way he’d take her hand in his, and in no uncertain terms tell her to her face just how beautiful she is.  The casual eloquence with which he’d suggest their first weekend excursion: nothing too serious, or too forward.  Just a drive to a local vineyard a bit outside the city limits, do a bit of tasting, come back within a couple of hours._

_She’d been so stressed as of late.  With him, she could relax, smile more, let her armor fall.  He’d take on extra work, delegate more, do whatever it took to keep her happy._

_He could tell she was lonely.  And that she didn’t trust easily._

_But she knew she could trust him.  She’d never have to go it alone again, with him by her side._

_Yes, yes. She needed him, that was becoming crystal clear. This would be good for both of them._

 

* * *

 

“Hi, it’s me. Ah, we need to…catch up. Come to the flat.  Not sure what time I’ll be home, depends on the traffic.”

And there it was: her voicemail waiting for him as he emerged from the shower, freshly shaven.  Perfect timing. 

And if he knew his Julia, she’d be calling any minute now, requesting takeaway.  Rob had anticipated this, ordering their favorites an hour ago so that they’d be ready by the time she got home.  He hummed softly, splashing on aftershave, putting on a suit she’d complimented him on ages ago, sliding a fresh bottle of wine into a gift bag just for her.

Smiling to himself, Rob made his way out of the flat and hailed a cab to her place.  As if on cue, she called and made her takeaway request; he was already en route, supper in tow. Those butterflies he’d felt back when they’d first met were back in full force, but he was sure it’d all be worthwhile by the end of the night.  Everything would be official by then, and they could take their courtship at any pace they pleased.

 

* * *

 

Rob took a deep breath as he departed from the cab and made his way up the stairs past the security guard, still mulling over the right moment, the right words to use that wouldn’t be awkward or embarrassing, the right tone to strike for Julia’s sake.  Not too cloying, not too syrupy, but the correct amount of confidence mingled with admiration should do.  Surely, she’d take it from there; she was nothing if not direct, and he’d give her all the time she needed to share how she felt about him, and where she saw the two of them headed together.

Satisfied, anticipatory, he straightened his shoulders and pressed the doorbell to her flat. He could hear heavy footsteps approaching, quite unlike the click of heels or soft footfalls Rob was accustomed to hearing from the other side of the door.  His brow tightened in puzzlement just as the door swung open, and Rob’s anticipation, all his hopes for the evening ahead, plummeted immediately as the owner of said heavy footsteps was revealed.

_Fuck.  Fuck!_

A bloke stood there. 

Not just any bloke either:  he was, in all likelihood, one of the most intimidatingly handsome men Rob had ever come across in person or otherwise.  The kind of handsome that just diminished other men without much effort, that drew every eye in any room.  Obviously young, clean-shaven, square jaw, sharp cheekbones, dark curls, broad shoulders, and a pair of piercing blue eyes that gave nothing away yet still managed to root Rob to the spot with their sheer intensity.  His dark suit fit him well and made it clear that the body beneath was well-toned and muscled in all the right places. 

He was practically **perfect** , the fucker.

And was quite obviously the last person Rob wanted to see emerging from his future love’s flat at that moment in time.

 

* * *

 

**_Who._ **

**_The Bloody Hell._ **

**_Was This?_ **

A million different emotions slammed into Rob in an instant:  anger, jealousy, curiosity, terror, a possessiveness so strong he could feel himself beginning to tremble...he could barely draw a breath, stammering out a weak “hello” along with his name and staring at this intruder who simply stared back with those unnerving cobalt eyes, looked for all the world as if he belonged there in Julia’s flat, answering her door, doing God knows what else with—

“Rob, perfect timing, I’m starving.  Come through.  Sergeant Budd won’t be long.” 

Julia suddenly appeared behind Mr. GQ, flashing him a smile and beckoning him in.  Rob exhaled, barely even realizing he’d been holding his breath as he brushed past, and relaxed ever so slightly as he took a closer look at the unexpected guest, noticing the telltale bulkiness of a ballistic vest, the wiring coiled behind one ear, the flatly courteous tone of a strong Scottish accent as he wished them both a good evening.  Ah.  Of course.

 _Merely new security detail, nothing to worry about,_ Rob mused quietly as he unpacked their supper in Julia’s kitchen minutes later, relieved at the revelation that his initial fears of stumbling onto some new, unsettling detail of Julia’s hidden love life were unfounded.  _Even if the man did look like he belonged on a magazine cover rather than the Metro Police force, he was likely as bland and uninteresting as the rest of them.  Just some flatfoot copper with a decent face and a fancy promotion, that’s all.  A bullet-stopper. A nobody.  Nothing there that would impress a woman like Julia, in any event._

 

* * *

 

Oh, how wrong he was.

“Had I known he was the officer who foiled the attack, I daresay I would’ve responded to him much differently, but you know how trying today was.  I’m afraid I was at my worst, that poor sod.”

Julia Montague **was** impressed.

Very much so.

Rob had been listening to her detail the heroics of Mr. GQ for the better part of an hour, and found himself quickly running out of ways to hide his dismay at this new turn of events.  Their dinner had been consumed, the first glass of wine shared, and yet Julia continued to prattle on about her new protection officer.  Of course, he was the main subject of the dossier they’d been dissecting, so she had ample cause. But it still rankled him to no end. 

Sergeant Budd had single-handedly thwarted a terrorist hijacking, and in doing so managed to hijack Rob’s special evening with Julia in the process.

_Fantastic._

So not only was this guy handsome as hell and evidently one of Metro Police’s fastest rising stars, but he was also some sort of ‘terrorist whisperer’ who’d managed to save not only everyone on the train, but the terrorist herself?  By wrapping his body around hers and becoming her human shield?  And passionately negotiating with the police until they put down their weapons and agreed to help instead of harm? 

_Bollocks.  Straight out of the West End.  Unbelievable.  Surely these weren’t the facts in their entirety._

And yet Julia was eating it all up.  Savoring it, in fact.

“He deserves a commendation, to be held up as an example within the ranks. We need more like him: proactive, civil-minded, smart…”

Rob felt his lip curl, the last of his patience with this new turn of events having simply run out, and he cut her off before she could continue with her endless, nauseating praise. “More wine?”

“Certainly.”  Julia held out her glass expectantly.  He poured, mind in a funk as he pondered a quick way to change the subject.  Any excitement or expectations he’d held about this particular evening were gone, his desire to move things forward right away diminishing more and more by the minute.

And he had Police Sergeant David Budd to thank for that. 

“Can we discuss the meeting with Roger?  I hear he’s calling a vote in Parliament on the economic feasibility of next year’s military expeditions,” Rob proposed, knowing that the mere mention of Penhaligon would sour Julia’s expression, and in the very least move the discussion away from Mr. Wonderful. 

He was being petty, and he knew it.  But he couldn’t care less.

Sure enough, the corners of Julia’s mouth turned downward at the mention of her ex, and Rob silently prayed that the change in topic would stick.  The night was all but ruined regardless; he’d just have to come up with a better plan, some sort of evening together that had nothing to do with work.  Rob settled onto the settee resignedly with his fresh glass of wine, only half-engrossed in their conversation as he began to formulate his next move.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Endlessly amused and inspired by the response the first couple of chapters got--a HUGE thanks to everyone who's read, left kudos, and commented thus far. You're all too lovely. :) Here's another one before the weekend's over; I'll post more next weekend. Rob's thoughts in italics. It all belongs to Jed. I take a couple of liberties here and there with the order of events...but hey, it's fiction about fiction. Please enjoy.

* * *

It was only the second day he’d known of his existence, yet Rob could say in all certainty that he was really beginning to hate Police Sergeant David Budd of the Metropolitan Police Department.

Or maybe he was beginning to hate himself more and more, seeing how he’d certainly cocked up the day’s proceedings.

After last night’s disaster, he’d endured yet another sleepless night.  Not even due to the usual countless fantasies that often consisted of his boss in lace, wielding a whip and whispering the naughtiest things imaginable.  No, nothing so decadent as that.

Instead, Rob hated that he’d second-guessed himself out of asking Julia out.  Hot Cop shouldn’t have been enough to throw him off his game, and yet that mere intrusion into their normal state of affairs had disoriented him enough to lead to calling it all off entirely.  She might’ve given him a chance, might’ve said yes.  Maybe things would’ve escalated to whips and lace rather quickly.  Maybe not.

The point was, he’d never know.  Because he was a bloody coward last night.

_Ugh._

Julia was seated in the BBC’s green room mere feet away from where he paced, blissfully unaware of his anguish, studying her notes in preparation for the interview just minutes away.  And yes, The Hero was there as well, manning the door silently.  _Does he just wake up looking like that?_ Rob thought with fresh irritation, glancing at the bodyguard and noting that the suit was just as crisp, the hair was just as perfect, the jaw was just as square, and the eyes were just as infuriatingly blue and fathomless as they were the night before.  Was he just some perfectly-built, impeccably-dressed robot, some android employed by the department and designed to make every other male in the room feel a little less secure about themselves?

Despite himself, Rob was really, really beginning to hate this man. 

Wrong of him, perhaps, but entirely true.

And unlike most of the officers that worked as PPOs and employed their best thousand-yard stare in the presence of staff, this one had no qualms about pinning you to the wall with his potent, no-nonsense glare.  He said very little, yet nothing seemed to escape his scrutiny.

Unnerving.

There was something undeniably steely about him, perhaps even dangerous…this was clearly a man you didn’t fuck with on any level, that much Rob could tell.  He made a mental note to pull some strings and find out just enough background on his new nemesis to discover a weakness, a vulnerability, a flawed past affair…something that would put him in his proper place.  Rob didn’t relish feeling less superior to anyone, let alone some glorified bobby with a savior complex.

At least his boss didn’t seem overly chuffed at the presence of the officer either, seemingly ignoring him entirely for the duration of the morning in favor of burying herself in preparation.  Rob knew Julia didn’t get nervous jitters before interviews, per se, but the gathering groundswell of attention surrounding her ascendancy had caused a corresponding increase in her need to make absolutely certain there were no missteps: that the facts lined up and that her viewpoints were unimpeachably expressed at all times.  There existed no room for error in her mind, and Rob watched her surreptitiously from the corner of his vision, noting the furrowed brow, the slight darkness beneath her eyes despite her perfectly made-up features. 

His goddess, his beautiful Julia, likely hadn’t been sleeping well either.

He yearned so badly to comfort her then and there, hold her hand, kiss her cheek, smooth her shoulders in a gesture of ease and support.  Every single one of those gestures were so clearly out of the realm of possibility for now…and yet.  Maybe a word or two, perhaps a compliment spoken with warmth, would do the same trick.

Rob paused near her perch on the couch and took a deep breath before leaning over her slightly.

“I bet the PM pulled out because he knew you’d do a much better job.” 

_There.  Smoothly stated, appropriately flattering, didn’t stumble over my words.  Nice one, Rob._

Julia didn’t even bother to look up from her notes.

“Sounds like a reason not to pull out,” was her curt response, sounding entirely unimpressed by Rob’s little effort.  He averted his gaze, feeling a bit stung, feeling a bit silly for even having made such a trivial statement in the first place. 

_Bollocks._

It was like high school all over again, this kind of adolescent pining, this hanging on to her every word, gesture, response, seemingly getting nowhere.  A little flash of anger at her for having such uncompromising power over him, combined with a pinch of humiliation and a sizable dash of self-pity, sent him pacing again.  He shoved his hands in his pockets and sighed.

Long minutes passed. Segment after segment aired.  Rob paced.  Julia inhaled sharply, nodding to herself before turning a page of her notes.  The pretty boy watched from the corner, expression inscrutable.  Finally, a producer came back, delivering the two-minute warning just as Chanel rounded the corner with coffee.

“Your decaf,” the brunette intoned, carrying the cup holder in a much-too-precarious grasp with the rest of her items.

Julia stirred at the welcome sight, putting aside her notes to receive the beverage…only to gasp loudly as Chanel tripped, spilling hot coffee all over the front of the home secretary’s blouse and jacket.

“Shit!!” Rob exclaimed, fixing the assistant with the angriest glare he could muster while the assistant apologized profusely and Julia did plenty of cursing of her own, her blouse clearly ruined.  Chanel then giggled, and the look Julia sent her way could’ve killed 10 men instantly.

“Can we dry it out?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, there’s no time!” Great, now they were both in the shitter.  Rob felt helpless, hating to see his normally calm, collected boss lose her cool minutes before her interview, wishing he had a solution that would put him in her good graces again—

“Fresh on this morning, ma’am.”

_Oh great.  The Hero strikes again._

Rob turned in time to see the bodyguard striding over, having already loosened his tie and pulling it off before seizing his jacket.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me.” Rob couldn’t help himself, scoffing explicitly at the notion that Julia would ever wear some random bloke’s ill-fitting dress shirt for a nationally-televised interview. _Who does this guy think he is?  Why is he even involving himself in this discussion!?  What a ridiculous idea._

The sergeant never stopped, never once so much as looked at Rob, his motions smooth and automatic as he hastily unbuttoned his dress shirt.  “My shirts are altered to fit over my ballistic vest,” he reassured Julia in a low, sonorous tone, undoing his cuffs before pulling the shirt off entirely and neatly folding the sleeves together. “The chest-to-waist ratio should be compatible.”  Budd handed the shirt to Julia, who for the first time ever appeared to be slack-jawed for the same reasons everyone else in the room appeared to be.

All Rob saw was muscles. 

Rippling muscles. 

A tattoo on Budd’s left shoulder, military in nature at first glance.  Strong biceps, thickly-veined forearms.   The ballistic vest hid his torso mostly from view, thank goodness, but the bit of dark chest hair peeking above the collar of the vest only served to illustrate the intense virility of the man in question.  With the gun on his hip completing the picture, he looked like a badass. 

An incredibly masculine, undeniably attractive badass.

_Ok.  It’s official now.  I hate him. I really do._

The air suddenly seemed charged with a new sort of tension, not the least of which was coming from the Home Secretary herself.  She stared at her new PPO a beat longer, mouth parted, her expression unreadable, before abruptly snapping back to attention.

“Well, don’t all stand around gawping,” Julia hissed, accepting the shirt with no small amount of irritation at the circumstances.  “And you,” she whirled on Chanel, fire in her eyes, “fuck off and commission Sergeant Budd a new shirt.”

The amused assistant plodded off, seemingly undaunted by the momentary chaos she’d caused.  Sergeant Budd backed away slightly, giving Julia her space. “You have to tuck it under your jacket, ma’am,” he murmured, retrieving his jacket from the settee before turning and making his way back across the room.  Rob stood rooted to the spot, inwardly seething as Julia’s gaze followed the officer, her softly uttered ‘thank you’ adding fuel to his anguish.

She’d never looked at him **quite** like that.  Not in all their time together. 

“Some privacy?”

Rob snapped back to attention at Julia’s sharp admonishment, practically falling over his own feet and stuttering an apology as he departed.  Only Budd remained, his back still to her as he readjusted his equipment.  And that tension, that oddly pressurized tension that had ratcheted up since the time Mr. GQ decided to renounce his shirt and play the savior role yet again, hadn’t abated in the least.   Their backs were to each other, the moment of crisis clearly over, and yet it was clear that some new awareness had sprung to life between the two.

Truth be told, Rob felt let down by Julia, spitefully guessing that the little strip-down had done more to entice her than a hundred bottles of wine ever could.  _All it takes is some cheap, heroic ploy and flashing a little muscle to get her attention?  Clearly, I overestimated her._

As much as he didn’t want to leave them alone, Rob saw that he was left with no other choice.  He settled for shooting a dark look in the general vicinity of the officer before stalking down the hallway and making his way down to the studio.

* * *

The appropriate strings were pulled, and the information he sought landed in his inbox with little fanfare later that night.  Rob dropped what he was doing immediately, eager to get some sort of background on his new nemesis.  Anything, anything at all that signaled a chink in the armor or a flaw in character, was fair game.  And maybe, just maybe, bringing it to Julia’s attention would cause her to reconsider his assignment to her detail.

_Let’s see what skeletons Mr. Perfection’s got in his closet, shall we?_

* * *

_Well._

Thirty minutes had elapsed.  And what Rob had discovered about David Joseph Alan Budd in that time brought him very little in the way of comfort as far as discovering any damaging proclivities was concerned.  In fact, quite the opposite. 

He gritted his teeth, slamming the laptop shut before leaning back against his headboard and closing his eyes.  There was absolutely no way he could compete with this guy.

_David Joseph Alan Budd was a bloody war hero._

Ten years in the British Armed Forces.  Two tours in Iraq, four in Afghanistan.  Noted for his high intellectual capacity, superior reasoning and deduction skills, excellence in sharpshooting, and valor in armed combat.  Countless commendations and elevations of rank.  Special recognition for transporting five fellow servicemen by foot to safer ground and taking out two enemy combatants after sustaining third-degree burns to much of his left flank during a suicide bomb attack in Helmand Province.  Joined the Metro Police force three years prior. Wife and two children.  Currently residing in North London.

_Clearly an ACTUAL badass._

_No bluster, no pretense.  This bloke is legit.  Christ on a bike…_

Rob grimaced, Julia’s lingering look at the younger officer earlier that day coming to mind again.  How much of this was she privy to, he wondered?  She’d no doubt be even more impressed than she already was. At least there was a wife in the picture, though their addresses appeared to differ.  Troubled marriage, maybe?

Still.  Hardly a skeleton to be found.  No, just a slew of heroic deeds and feats of bravery that left Rob with a discomforting mix of begrudging respect and ever-burning envy.  He hunkered down beneath his covers, chagrined at the wasted effort, but still determined to win Julia’s affections by any means necessary.  It was all about finding the right time, setting up the right circumstances, and saying what needed to be said.  And obviously, the sooner the better. 

He closed his eyes and settled into sleep, more resolute than ever that he’d get his girl in the end.

* * *

_This simply would not do.  
_

Three weeks came and went in quick succession. 

It barely seemed feasible, but somehow the Home Office had become even busier in the duration.  Chanel was mercifully fired (and it chafed Rob to no end that his staff had overwhelmingly elected to have, in their words, “that hot bodyguard, the sexy one following Julia” handle that particularly explosive affair).  All of the business between he and the Home Secretary now seemed to occur on official grounds: in the artificially chilled, sterile air of her office, or within the luxurious leather confines of the sedan as he and Julia moved in a tight orbit from office to Parliament to meeting room, or the barren confines of a conference room with a dozen other officials impatiently waiting their turn to speak.

And in that time, Julia had called him over exactly once for an after-hours work session.

Granted, they were both exhausted.  Perhaps she needed to decompress most nights, now that everything around her had escalated.  Rob still hadn’t given up hope, despite their routine evenings together becoming rarer as time went on, that his feelings were in part mutually shared.  They were both cut from the same cloth, compatible in every way.  Birds of a feather.   And if given the chance, he knew she could learn to love a man like him.  He had everything she could possibly want in a partner:  he was honest, intelligent, steadfast in his admiration and sensitive to her special circumstance as one of the most powerful women in British government.   He respected her, wanted only the best for her.

And fine: he was a bit of a square.  Had never been on any front line whatsoever, literal or otherwise.  He had no tattoos, nor was he built like some god-like Adonis.  Guns scared the shit out of him. He’d been in the makings of a pub fight only once in his life, and promptly ran for the hills after ducking the first swing. He was pale, skinny, asthmatic, prematurely balding in spots, had proper English teeth and a wonky gait due to one leg being shorter than the other.  All of that was true, all of it potentially working against him.

But?

He was hopelessly in love with her.

And he knew he could make her happy.

* * *

Anglophile Notes:

bobby-British slang for a police officer

Christ on a bike-A wonderful exclamation that speaks for itself and seems to be British in origin, if the internet is to be trusted. :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! More chapters, fresh off the press for weekend consumption. :) This one's a shortie, but pretty pivotal. All of your kudos and comments are giving me LIFE...you have no idea. So much laughter over all of your reactions and points of view--can't thank you all enough for sharing them and supporting the story. Rob's thoughts in italics. It's Jed's stuff. Enjoy!

* * *

_So._

_Desperate times, desperate measures._

It was all too easy, yet still quite the devious feat:  set up the pretense of a work dinner.  Select one of the best restaurants in London, something expensive and tasteful that he knew his boss would admire. Invite Julia, Sanjeev, and Indira.  Cancel with the latter two at the last minute, citing a private concern that needed to be discussed between the Home Secretary and her (very) special advisor.  Enjoy dinner with the most beautiful, powerful woman in England.  Smile, chuckle, say all the right things, flatter her to pieces, and surely she’d begin to see him in an alternative, much more romantic light.  They’d part ways reluctantly, perhaps hold hands on the way out, exchanging pleasantries and promises to keep their future dates private.  There would be no need to pretend to invite others later on, but of course discretion was to be the name of their game.

_Easy as pie._

He was sure Julia would enjoy his little ploy, shoot him a devious grin as he detailed the clever plan and join him in toasting the new, more intimate depths of their relationship.  In fact, he couldn’t wait to see her reaction to it.  Everything was going perfectly according to plan.

Except one issue that he hadn’t foreseen.

Rob strode out into the unseasonably warm early evening, following Julia to the sedan that awaited them at the curb outside the Home Office.  Unfortunately, they both followed a newly reinstated Sergeant Budd, who’d been entirely absent for almost a week and had unceremoniously shitted on Rob’s mood that day when he spied a familiar, handsome silhouette in a well-fitted suit standing ramrod straight in the hallway just outside of Julia’s office.  It actually made him stop in his tracks, as he’d heard that the officer’s previous heroics had actually led to his reassignment away from Julia’s detail, a fact that had elated Rob to no end that past week. 

And yet, here he was, his crisp stride leading the way as he opened the car door for Julia, eyes scanning their surroundings for unforeseen threats.  _How the bloody hell had he been reinstated?_ Rob shook his head in dismay.  He looked at Julia curiously out of the corner of his vision as he opened his own door and ducked inside. _Surely she hadn’t—_

“It’s good to have you back, PS Budd,” Julia remarked, her tone much warmer than usual.  Budd also seemed slightly surprised by the generous acknowledgement, thanking her succinctly as their eyes locked, that strange undercurrent of tension between the two thrumming once again to life before he closed her door and got into the passenger seat.

_Well, there goes my answer,_ Rob thought sourly, pretending to read a dossier as the car pulled out into traffic. 

_She *wanted* him back.  Probably pulled plenty of strings to get him back.  Damn it all…_

No matter.  The plan was in motion already.  Everything would change after tonight, and for the better.  He glanced over at Julia, whose expression was impassable in the shadowy confines of the backseat, and allowed himself a small, giddy grin.

* * *

 

In his wildest nightmares, Rob couldn’t have possibly envisioned just how heinous, how awful, how humiliating his ‘clever’ plan would turn out to be.

_I think I’m truly gonna be sick._

He couldn’t get over it, may never get past the look of dawning surprise followed immediately by shock that claimed Julia’s fine features, chased soon thereafter by a thick cloud of awkwardness that pervaded the very air at their table.

“They’re not coming,” she’d stated in utter disbelief, less a question than an accusation.   Thrown completely off by her reaction, he’d sheepishly affirmed her suspicions.  Not even a minute later, he found himself standing, stammering weak protests as Julia stood to take her leave, sliding the knife fully between his ribs and twisting it with her careless parting statement.

“This feels weird.”

Weird. 

As in unfathomable. 

As in ridiculous. 

As in completely out of the realm of possibility that she would ever consider being on an actual date with him.

And the kicker of course was having The Hero and another of his cohorts watching his humiliation live and in-person a table away, no doubt endlessly amused by Julia’s hasty retreat.

Rob buried his head in his hands, trying desperately not to ugly cry in the back of the black cab and failing miserably as it sped down the mostly empty streets.  He felt positively mortified, pathetic in the extreme, cursing himself viciously for such a debacle.

_How could he have been so unbelievably wrong?_

_And how the hell would he face her tomorrow?_

_Resigning sounds like a much better option.  Maybe send an e-mail in an hour or so._

_Perhaps it would be best to just move out of England entirely within the next 24 hours._

_Goodness.  I'll never live this down.  I won't.  Impossible._

Depressing thought after depressing thought piled on, none of them offering Rob any sort of reprieve.  He got home, grabbed the closest bottle of alcohol he could find, and chugged it before laying facedown on his couch, not bothering to move for the rest of the night.

* * *

 

Life has a funny way of presenting perfect opportunities for revenge.

Rob’s extreme humiliation at the hands of his boss had long since mutated into something much more manageable and valuable to wield.  He’d wallowed for exactly two days before moving on.

Anger had a way of sharpening priorities, creating better ways to proceed without mushy sentiment weighing one down, clarifying true allies and snatching a bit more power in the process.  That was the game they played, after all.  In politics, every advantage was fair game.  The ends always justified the means.

_So she didn’t want him?  He held no value to her, other than the menial tasks he did at the office?_

_Fine._

As long as he still had access to her, he’d have everything he needed to get ahead.  If Julia Montague didn’t want to be his lover, she’d simply become his stepping stone.

The Security Service had contacted him through Mike weeks ago, requesting his cooperation in monitoring the Home Secretary’s affairs.  Mike, growing increasingly worried about Julia breaking party lines and creating havoc in a bid for personal glory, was pressing Rob in an attempt to forge an alliance.  They'd begun to label her as 'dangerous', as the 'top threat' to their larger collective goals, and efforts were well underway to create a silent, growing resistance.  Rob knew the game, knew that much of what was transpiring behind the scenes was sheer male panic at the mere thought that a woman like Julia would ascend to such heights;  where would that leave them?  He’d never brought into the panic, had been steadily blowing them off, content to protect his future lover by refusing to spy on her and do their dirty work.  But now?

She’d regret Rob MacDonald not having her back. 

He’d make sure of it.

* * *

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so this is a nice, long chapter--settle in! I hope you enjoy. Please heed the Mature warning, as well as the tags regarding sexual content; I will not be held legally responsible for debauching anyone... :)  
> Rob's thoughts in italics; there's also another sequence in italics, though it is labeled differently from the rest of the story. Credit to Jed for his marvelous creation.

* * *

Despite himself, Rob was shocked at how emotional he felt during that fateful day, as the first calls about the attempt on Home Secretary Julia Montague’s life began to pour into the Home Office at an alarming rate. He felt his heart momentarily stop as the cursory details of the attack began to flow in, the news reports breathlessly recounting the sequence of events in astonishing detail:

\----

*****The BBC is exclusively reporting now that the attempt on Home Secretary Julia Montague’s life took place today at Thornton Circus, with the shooter stationed at Pascoe House just steps from where the attack commenced.  Eyewitnesses in the area say that the quick, heroic actions of the Home Secretary’s Personal Protection Officer, Police Sergeant David Budd of the Metropolitan Police Department, not only saved the Home Secretary’s life, but prevented further casualties as the department mobilized efforts to shut down the area.*****

**\----**

_Of course.  Hero Cop saves the day yet again._

Rob immediately went from reluctantly-felt concern to seeing absolute red, a dramatic shift in emotion which only intensified as the news spread and the staff began talking amongst themselves, speculating on the shooter, the motives, the escalating threat of violence surrounding them all as the RIPA ’18 vote came closer. 

And naturally, everyone in the office was hailing the absolute perfection of one Police Sergeant David Budd.

“I heard he charged into the building with a rifle by himself, ready to take out the shooter,” Tahir recounted to the scrum of workers gathered around the conference room telly, his statement met with sounds of surprise and admiration.

“Holy shit, that bloke’s amazing!”

“He single-handedly saved her life!”

"Such a badass."

_Bullshit. Not this again._

Rob rolled his eyes hard before pivoting and walking pointedly away from the crowd, reminded of the night Julia had gushed over the bodyguard and feeling that same sickening jealousy bubble to the surface.  It certainly hadn’t helped his mood to hear the rumors circulating freely about the office for weeks on end now…that Julia had literally blown up and demanded answers when she discovered that Budd had been lopped off of her security detail, that the secretary and her extremely fit bodyguard seemed to enjoy a closer bond since his reinstatement, that they’d dined privately in her home either the exact night of his utterly humiliating plan gone to shit, or soon thereafter.  The chatter surrounding their relationship was subtle yet salacious, and becoming increasingly hard to ignore. 

As it were, most of the staff seemed to agree that getting Julia laid was the best course of action for everyone involved.  A pool had started in comical earnest weeks ago, bets being taken on exactly *when* the unresolved sexual tension between the secretary and her young, dishy bodyguard would finally, FINALLY boil over. Maybe she’d relax a bit, relent a little, stop being such a bloody harridan on a daily basis.

Rob actually couldn’t argue with that last point, though he steadfastly refused to believe that Julia would be quite that predictable or careless.  A man like Budd would never be worth the trouble an affair would cause, and he trusted that Julia knew that implicitly.  Maybe she simply enjoyed having his eyes on her, as it seemed every other woman (and quite a few men) in the office would gladly throw themselves into oncoming traffic if it meant garnering the momentary attentions of one PS David Budd.  In any case, he seriously doubted Julia would ever take it that far.  She was far too smart for that, too calculating.  The scandal that some tawdry affair with her protection officer would cause could absolutely devastate her chances at running for higher office.

But even so. Julia loosening up would be a victory for everyone. 

A hot tryst could certainly work wonders.

However, it was HE who had been showing up regularly to fulfill that role, at least in his fantasies.  Not some two-bit Scottish bloke pretending to be Rambo in a suit.

In any case, his plan was becoming clearer by the minute.  He would quietly turn on Julia, doing the Security Service’s bidding by planting a few devices in her vicinity to gather information—no big deal.  But he’d dig more on Budd, see what made that man tick, find something on him worth exploiting, if for no other reason than to dispel this ridiculous impression that he was literally the Second Coming in the eyes of many.  Especially Julia.

So, Rob would kill two birds with one stone, as the saying went.  One for revenge, obviously.  But one for the absolute pleasure of watching The Hero finally squirm under a bit of scrutiny.

Nobody could possibly be *that* perfect.  And if something had to be manufactured to dirty up a reputation, then so be it.  He had the resources now to make that happen.

* * *

 

Opportunity soon presented itself in the form of a phone call.

Rob, having barricaded himself in his office under the pretense of fielding all of the media questions since the attack (which was actually the case, as they could barely keep up with the requests for comment flooding their lines), felt his lapel buzzing insistently as he finished delegating yet another task to Tahir.   

_Julia._

Again, those mixed emotions coming up: the barely-veiled aggression, mingling with intense concern for her welfare.  Rob sighed heavily, swiping his finger to answer the call.

“Robert…”

 _Goodness._   She sounded absolutely terrible.  He felt his heart squeeze just a bit in sympathy.

“I’m here.  Are you okay?”

“I am, yes.”  He could hear her take a deep breath, trying to collect herself.  The tone of her voice wavered precariously as she tried to sound stronger than she obviously felt.  “I’m doing fine.  How are things at the office?”

“Julia, everything’s being taken care of,” Rob rushed to reassure her.  “Mike is on top of the prioritized tasks, Tahir is handling your bookings for the next two days.  I’ve crafted statements for the press that we can look over together.  I take it Abby has come by the hotel with your belongings?”

“She has, thank you.”  Long, shaky sigh, then a momentary silence. 

“If you could come by…there are a few items I require from my office…”

“Of course, anything you need,” Rob hurried on, taking notes as she detailed the safehouse location and necessary articles from her desk.  Once the call was complete, he bid a hasty retreat and flagged a cab to his flat to retrieve the surveillance equipment Mike had passed on to him.

He took the small case in hand with some trepidation…he was no spy, this could all backfire spectacularly, and he had no idea just what, exactly, the Security Service wanted to reveal about Julia’s work in private.  The whole affair suddenly made him queasy, made him doubt his actions if only for a second.  Was this really the path he wanted to take?

And then he recalled the sense of utter disbelief on Julia’s face the night of their disastrous dinner.  Rob flinched at the mere recollection.  The acute embarrassment, the anger, the bottomless depths of his humiliation. 

And Mike’s growing insistence behind the scenes that she meant to betray her own party, that they needed to install ‘checks and balances’ in order to limit her power if need be. 

And his own need to be more than some lackey, some insignificant cog in the machine.  He was every bit as smart, every bit as ambitious as the likes of Julia Montague.  The unspoken yet implied promotion for his cooperation loomed enticingly beyond the very simple act he had to perform.

It was settled, then.  Rob shut his attaché case decisively before heading out of his flat and into the chilly night.

* * *

 

Very easy, in the end, to do what needed to be done.  Almost too easy.

Three tiny yet incredibly powerful microphones to plant, each about the size of a quarter. Rob slipped one beneath the sofa as he and Julia spoke, excused himself to the restroom and planted one beneath the vanity, and made a mild show of touring the suite and complimenting the modern décor before sliding one beneath the yellow chaise in the bedroom quarters.  Done. 

He’d have to check the recording device they’d passed on to him to ensure that they worked, as they were programmed to encrypt and send recordings once per hour after their activation.  Once he was sure, he’d monitor them daily and report any significant findings to Mike, who would pass them on as needed.  Simple.  Nonetheless, his anxiety nearly betrayed him a couple of times during the visit.

It was perhaps fortunate, then, that his normally astute boss didn’t pick up on the slight tremor of his hands, nor the subtle nervous rambling of his speech.  Julia looked more fragile than he’d even thought possible, small and curled in on herself, the long velvet divan nearly swallowing her bent frame.  Her usually impeccable coif lay in stringy disarray.  Her eyes were red and watery, the skin around them swollen; her face pale and drawn, the normally pert set to her shoulders all but gone as she slumped over a cooling cup of tea.

“Thank you,” she rasped, making brief eye contact and nodding before reaching for her phone.  “Don’t cancel anything right now.  We have to keep up appearances, or they’ll think they’ve got the better of us.  I should be fine tomorrow.  See you then.”  Julia rose from the divan, effectively dismissing him for the evening as she quietly wandered into the bedroom.

Rob doubted that assertion mightily but said nothing as he gathered his articles to leave.  Making his way out of the room and down the heavily-fortified hallway to the elevator, he breathed a small sigh of relief that the more difficult part of his role had been completed.  All that was left to do was test their functionality, and send the recordings over to Mike as they came in—

A chime sounded, the elevator doors parted.  Rob dropped his line of thought and made his way across the glossy floors of the luxurious hotel lobby, eager to get home and put the mess of the day behind him…and stopped in mid-stride as a familiar figure strode past the huge gilded windows adorning the hotel’s entrance.  He was dressed down, the usual dark suit eschewed in favor of a casual blazer and jeans, but there was no mistaking the cut of that jawline, the meticulous copse of dark curls, and the swift, efficient gait that spoke of years of military training.

Rob knew that, officially, Police Sergeant David Budd was off-duty as of 7:39 PM that evening.  Every report had him giving his statement at the station, passing in his firearm per protocol, and being given the following morning and afternoon off for presumed rest and recovery.  Julia had been given over to the care of no less than a dozen security officers, along with an alternate PPO staff on call to assist should any issues arise.

And yet, here he is. 

Saint Budd the Savior.  The Man, Myth and Legend.

At close to 10 PM, no less. 

_No doubt at Julia’s request._

Rob turned swiftly towards a side entrance and made his way out, steadfastly ignoring the all-too-familiar insecurities threatening to surface, too damned tired to even contend with them as he made the decision to walk home.  The best thing he could do for himself right now was to simply forget about Julia, forget about the ever-messianic David Budd, forget about his role in all of this for a moment and gather his bearings.  He had new allies, after all; he wasn’t in this alone.  There’d be plenty of time to take them both down, to watch it all unravel from a completely innocent distance.  He had his orders, and he’d follow them without question.

* * *

 

Little did he know, it would take barely any time at all to gather incriminating evidence on one Julia Montague. 

Or one David Budd.

Like, less than an hour.

_Oh. My. God._

* * *

 

**Recording 1 - 13/10/2018  22:13 PM GMT  
**

**\----**

_“I’m not the queen.  You’re allowed to touch me.”_

_Silence for one long, long moment._

_A wet, soft sound.  Like a kiss.  Lips meeting tentatively._

_A sharp intake of breath._

_A moan, feminine in origin.  More wet, soft sounds, the rustle of fabric shifting._

_“Julia…”_

_David’s voice. Low, questioning, unsure._

_“Julia, you’re shaking.”_

_“Please.  I…need…”_

_Julia.  Achingly vulnerable, her voice cracking in the quiet air._

_After a pause, the sound of their mouths meeting again._

_And again._

_And again._

_Another moan, much deeper than before, masculine in tone._

_“Oh…”_

_Julia’s sharp, surprised gasp._

_They move from living room to bedroom, the sound of their slight stumbling audible against the carpet._

_The muted press of a mattress, gently yielding._

_Heavy breathing._

_Metal clinking, a belt being unbuckled.  Two thuds, perhaps shoes cast aside._

_The distinct sound of a zipper._

_David’s sigh.  Then another.  A muffled groan._

_More kissing.  Long, slow moments pass._

_A sudden, sharp cry.  Julia._

_Followed by a long, shuddering exhale._

_Rhythmic gasps follow, intermingled with heavy breathing._

_The tempo intensifies._

_“Fuck…” David, voice hoarse and guttural.  Raw._

_He growls._

_The faint, fast staccato tap of an expensive headboard banging against the wall._

_Bodies in contact, pounding against each other._

_“David!”_

_Julia, panting hard, out of breath, his name almost a keening wail._

_A climax._

_The tapping slows suddenly, then stops._

_One long, deep groan, in sensual tandem with several breathy moans._

_Both go quiet._

_Long, slow exhalations._

_Silence._

* * *

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter to post for the weekend; please do enjoy, and thanks so much for reading! It all belongs to Jed. Rob's thoughts and certain labeled sequences in italics. Please heed the Mature rating for this one, too. Oy vey.

* * *

The expansive lobby of the Home Office building was practically standing-room only the morning after the attack, with local and international media members clamoring for space, for the greatest viewing angle, all awaiting the first public address of UK Home Secretary Julia Montague as she faced the nation bravely after such a terrifying attempt on her life.  All extra staff was on call, answering phones that rang nonstop and trying dutifully to tame the absolute chaos swirling around their relatively small cohort.  Lights were hung, marks were set, anchors created a veritable din that echoed endlessly throughout the space as they held their broadcasts on site, their commentary all blending into a litany of the same ten facts released to the press regarding the incident.

Thornton Circus.

Pascoe House.

Unknown gunman.

Around 4:00 PM.

The Home Secretary was unharmed.

One casualty:  Terrence Foyer, her driver of three years.

Security forces intervened in real time, removing her from danger swiftly and preventing further fatalities.

And so forth.

At last, a familiar convoy of security vehicles arrived just outside the building, the energy in the lobby dramatically shifting in seconds as the Home Secretary emerged from her armored sedan.  Officers flanked the entrance, guns readily visible; her protection team cut a clear path through the gathered crowd, hard gazes and stony expressions in place as they scanned each and every attendee. 

At the center of it all, a remarkably composed Right Honorable Julia Montague.  Not a hair out of place, makeup perfectly applied, neutral-colored pantsuit pressed and elegantly tailored to her frame.  Barely a furrowed brow, nor a trembling hand.  She was the picture of poise:  in control, unflappable, radiating strength in the face of terror.  Her very presence and demeanor seemed to calm the masses, many of them looking at her with a mixture of amazement and respect.  Here was a powerful woman, a leader, a figure who would never be undone by any forces that dare come against her or her ideals.  Proud.  Courageous.  Unshakable.

And Rob could barely look her in the eye. 

Not after last night.

“I’m feeling ready to return to my mission of fighting the enemies of democracy.  And I am undaunted in my determination to pass the RIPA ’18 legislation needed…to get that job done.”

Julia’s voice rang out with finality, signaling the end of her prepared statements to the press; she nodded to Tahir, who officially called for a close to the proceedings and made a brief announcement to the media about where they could direct further questioning.  The crowd began to disperse as the team surrounding Julia walked en masse to the bank of elevators. 

Rob hung back, head down, pretending to tend to an issue on his phone as he followed the scrum.  Immediately after the doors closed the Home Secretary began issuing orders, delegating tasks and addressing each staff member in turn.  If she noticed him ignoring her strident directions, she didn’t call him on it.  The elevator reached their main floor, everyone dispersing to their areas to begin the difficult workday in earnest.

“Rob?  We need to catch up,” Julia requested, looking back to where he stood, her brows drawing together at his now-obvious lack of communication, his unusual body language. 

“You don’t look like yourself.  Is something the matter?”

_She had the AUDACITY, the absolute GALL, to blink innocently at him and ask that question._

_After what she’d done._

_After **who** she’d done.  _

“Not at all,” Rob replied much too smoothly, lying through his teeth.  He marshaled a small smile to appease her, relieved when she visibly relaxed and continued on.

“Right.  We need to have a conference set for later this afternoon with SO15.  See if you can rope in the Security Service.  Mike has already been put on alert as to the necessary files we require to set up future RIPA ’18 advancements…”

Mechanically, Rob took notes, dutifully suppressing the burning desire to lash out at her right then and there in the hallway of the Home Office.  He longed so badly to just go full Chanel in that moment, screaming his outrage at the top of his lungs for all to hear, playing at full volume the recording of the impeccable, perfect, high-and-mighty Julia Montague **_fucking her married bodyguard_** mere hours after an attempt on her life.  Maybe he could call the media back in to record it for posterity, make the evening news that much more entertaining.

Disgust didn’t even begin to touch how he felt.  He’d thought his nights had been sleepless previously.  Last night had been nearly unbearable.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw them together. 

Imagined her, fragile and vulnerable, giving in to the merest touch, the merest sense of comfort to be found.  Budd holding her, soothing her.  Kissing her.  Mouths meeting, his slanting over hers eagerly again and again.  Julia allowing him access to everything she was…emotionally, physically…allowing him to undress her without reserve.  Her arms, reaching for him, hands gripping muscled shoulders, holding on tightly as they moved in unison. 

As she opened to him. 

As he moved deeper within her. 

Their desire peaking together.

It sickened him to no end.

“Julia, I’m afraid I have some business to attend to right away,” Rob interjected, promising to catch up with her by noon.  He really, really couldn’t stand to be in her presence for another moment, lest the tantrum he had a tenuous hold on escape in all its full, expletive-laden glory.  Luckily she was being pulled in other directions, and they parted rather easily as Mike whisked her away to her next meeting with JSOC.  Rob quickly made his way to his office, bypassing the queries of others and firmly shutting the door behind him.

* * *

 

_She has to know._

Rob sat at home later that night, eating cold takeaway on his sofa as he stewed over his options.  His phone was muted for the moment, the day exacting so much of a toll that hearing any sort of notification buzzing on his phone would’ve been cause for an utter meltdown. 

No, he needed to think.

Rob was many things, but he most certainly was not an idiot. 

The evidence of Julia’s tryst, if leaked, could set into action a chain of events that held the potential to take her down instantly.  Thus, the recording he had held value beyond what even the Security Service likely knew at this stage.  It seemed as if everyone was waiting with baited breath to hear what the recordings revealed, and with luck, something of significance that could be used to blackmail and manipulate the Home Secretary.  Mike had approached him anxiously as he made to depart, pulling him aside to ask if the ‘devices had been, ah, properly handled’. 

Rob had taken a deep breath before lying straight to the Deputy Home Secretary’s face.  “No, I’m afraid the opportunity hasn’t presented itself yet.” 

Mike looked briefly disappointed before assuring him that it was okay, that the timing was admittedly off for such a delicate operation to commence.  Despite himself, Rob had to allow himself a grim smile as he turned and made his way down the stairs.  He was usually shit at being deceptive, but maybe he was becoming really good at this.  Being immersed in the political world sure made it easier to spew utter bullshit at a moment’s notice.

Nonetheless, he had options to consider.

Option 1:  The original plan.  Relinquish the recordings to the Security Service immediately.  Take Julia down from a distance.  Smear her precious bodyguard in the process.  Reap the rewards, the advancements, the covert adulation of Mike Travis, of Roger Penhaligon, all the men who were desperate to keep Julia away from her bid to become Prime Minister.

Or…

Option 2:  Relinquish nothing to Mike or the Security Service.  Pretend there was a malfunction, some sort of error.  Keep the recordings to himself, to use as he deemed fit.  And let Julia know that he had something over her, something big that could end her career unless an elevated position waited for him once she took over Number 10.  She could do it, of that he had no doubt.  And she’d have no choice but to keep him happy in the process.

He’d take the latter.  After that, they could mend fences, perhaps even be friends again.  Rob had no doubt in his mind that Julia held no real interest in Sergeant Budd, had likely gone along with the events of last night due to her traumatic circumstances.  She was terrified, out of her mind, not thinking clearly…and her bodyguard had simply reaped the rewards of her compromised state.  Perhaps it was simply the convenience of it all, her temporary needs taking precedence over any rational decisions.  Thinking of it in those terms made Rob’s ire soften just a bit. 

_Of course that was the case._   Mollified, he finally caught a bit of sleep that night, too tired to check the recordings but resolving to do so first thing in the morning.  The Julia he knew would never, ever commit such an outrageous lapse in judgment again.  Just a misstep, that was all _._

_And I can protect her from the consequences of it while protecting my own interests in the bargain.  A win-win, really._

* * *

 

**Recording 2  14/10/2018  21:45 PM GMT  
**

**\----**

_Julia’s footsteps, heels clicking on hardwood._

_The sound ceases._

_Long moment of silence.  Then, the click of a lock turning._

_A door being opened._

_More footsteps.  Heavier ones.  No heels._

_A pregnant pause._

_Followed by the now-familiar sound of lips meeting, questing, fighting for sensual control._

_Muffled steps, then an abrupt, muted bang._

_“Right here…”_

_Julia, gasping for air, issuing orders, voice heavy and thick with lust._

_The rustle of clothes being discarded with haste._

_Suit pants falling to the floor._

_Harsh, labored breathing.  The sound of hands on naked flesh._

_“Your job, my job…just…complicates everything.”_

_Julia barely gets the words out before issuing a sharp cry of pleasure._

_Then another, and another.  Another._

_Each one louder and hotter than the last._

_The thrusts are clearly audible: hard, deep, unforgiving._

_“Nothing complicates my job.  It’s to protect you.”_

_David’s low baritone.  His words almost menacing._

_Almost more threat than promise._

_The steady, hard rhythm increases._

_Julia’s moans begin to blend together, cascading over one another._

_They continue. Growing louder, frenzied, wild._

_The sounds of their fucking suddenly cease for the space of three heartbeats._

_Then David gives orders._

_“Turn around.  Hands on the table.  Keep your legs apart for me.”_

_He’s breathing heavily as he says this._

_The sounds of a table scraping against a wall, a body shifting in place._

_A soft whimper._

_Heels click against a wooden floor._

_“You want me.”  David’s voice, hard._

_His accent thicker and rougher than usual._

_Silence, save for Julia’s erratic panting in the quiet space._

_A vicious slap rings out, a broad palm striking soft, round flesh._

_Julia’s loud hiss, breaking off into a cross between a moan and sigh._

_“Say it.”_

_“I…”_

_Another stinging slap.  A cry of acute pleasure flies from Julia’s lips._

_“God, David…”_

_He is unrelenting. “Say you want me.”_

_Julia, out of her mind with lust, slurring words._

_“I want you..,” she confesses, the three syllables barely out before dissolving into a long, heated sigh._

_One deep grunt.  The sound of the table sliding forward, ever so slightly._

_Slow, unhurried thrusts._

_A string of incoherent, sensual noises follow, occasional words interspersed._

_All Julia._

_“More…please, David…faster…”_

_“You’re not in control now.  I am.”_

_“Don’t tease…”_

_Yet another slap, this one practically echoing in the space._

_“David!”_

_“You need to be taught some manners, ma’am,” he murmurs hotly._

_The table shifting again.  The wet, sensual crush of mouths, devouring each other once more._

_“Please…” Julia had never sounded so needy, desperate, out of control._

_David speaks.  Softly, yet edged with steel._

_“On the bed.  Take everything off. **Now**.”_

* * *

 

**Tiny Author's Note:  Just to clear up any potential confusion, going 'Full Chanel' is a reference to the epic meltdown of Julia's assistant as she was being fired in the first episode.  Which has to be one of my all-time favorite scenes in any show, ever.  So there ya go. :) 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting close to the end! I'm going to post this chapter a bit early, since it's my favorite one. :) Next chapter will wrap up the story; I'll post it sometime this weekend. All your comments and kudos are fabulous, and inspire me to no end--a MILLION thanks for all your support. It's all Jed's. Rob's thoughts in italics. Enjoy!

 

* * *

The lobby of the Home Office, all stainless steel and glistening glass, bustling as usual on a Friday morning.  Employees darted to and fro, energized with anticipation for the approaching weekend.  Jim Nantz had manned the front desk for years now, his cheerful demeanor and hearty laugh serving to brighten the day for his fellow ‘home officers’, as he cheekily called the regulars who worked there.  Rob often stopped and chatted the elder fellow up about cricket, one of their shared pleasures.  He also, more often than not, made the effort to fold his newspapers carefully after breakfast before riding into work and passing them off to Nantz.

“Good man, good man,” Nantz would always praise with gratitude, the subtle hint of a German accent flavoring the words.  Rob would bow comically, Nantz grinning from ear to ear at the gesture before waving goodbye as Rob caught the elevator adjacent to the front entrance.

Rob walked in that day, his gait quick and terse as he went straight for the elevators.  He jabbed the call button hard a couple of times.  Eyes cast downward, saying nothing, purposefully avoiding any kind of contact whatsoever.  The recording device he’d carefully packed in his belongings merely an hour ago felt like a lead weight in his shoulder bag, a burden he couldn’t wait to shed. 

It was going to happen.

He was going to confront her. 

Immediately.

“My good man!” Rob barely stirred, hearing Nantz’s booming voice coming from the direction of the desk.  _Not today.  God, not today._

“No paper for me?” 

Rob refused to look up, his agitation growing by the second.  He felt like he was going to explode.  Where was this goddamn elevator?

“No, not today,” he said curtly.  Nantz’s confusion and dismay were practically audible as the elevator finally arrived, doors opening and people alighting quickly.  Rob pushed past the last few stragglers and got inside, pointedly ignoring the concerned query from his elderly friend at the desk as he pressed the floor number.  The doors closed, their reflective surface revealing a level of dishevelment entirely uncommon for him: a twice-worn suit haphazardly hanging on his frame, tie askew, a noticeably fresh coffee stain on his dress shirt.  His face looked ashen, features creased with tension, his hair tousled in unattractive fashion. 

Yes, Rob looked like shit.  He knew that.  He acknowledged it fully.  When he’d finally woken up that morning and unwittingly subjected himself to the outrageous contents of the recording from the night before, a growing sense of blinding fury had taken absolute precedence over the normal care he took regarding his appearance.  But what he was about to say and do didn’t require niceties. 

On the contrary, actually.

Once upstairs, he moved fast, heading straight for Julia’s office.  What he needed to say had to come out now.  No other priority existed in that moment.

* * *

 

Mike intercepted him quickly a few paces away from her door, eyes anxious.  “Everything okay, Rob?”  He was likely alluding to more than just Rob’s appearance or general demeanor; the surveillance operation was still very much at the forefront of their joint dealings.  The Security Service had probably gotten a hold of him, pressing him to ask Rob about the recordings, to get some sort of status update as to their implementation. 

This wasn’t the time.  Rob completely ignored Mike’s question, impatient to get on with it all before anything or anyone else could intrude.

“Is the Home Secretary available?  I need to speak to her right now.”  He moved slightly around Mike, catching sight of Julia at her desk through the glass wall and endeavoring to get around the slighter man.

“I’m not sure that this is the best—”

Rob pushed slightly past him to get to the door, opening it before Mike could even finish his protestations, and walked in just as Julia had risen from her desk.  She approached them both, confusion written all over her face.  “Is there a problem?”

Mike attempted to speak, Rob cutting him off entirely.

“I need to have a word with you, Home Secretary.  Privately.”  The tone of his voice left no room for argument.  He watched Julia’s lips part just a fraction, her eyes narrowing as she regarded Rob, no doubt assessing his appearance, reading his body language, curiously parsing the anger thrumming loud and clear through his words.  She straightened, glancing at Mike before returning her gaze back to Rob, expression impassive.

“Mike, we need ten minutes.  Please divert any interruptions for the time being. Thanks.”

Mike closed the door, grumbling audibly under his breath.  Julia broke the tension of their face-off first, seeming to shrug off his obvious lack of ease as she returned to her seat.  “Care to sit down?  I take it this is something that couldn’t possibly wait until a better time.”  Her neutral voice held a note of impatience, obviously irritated at his intrusion but willing to tolerate it only if absolutely necessary. 

Rob just stared at her.  Not even a month ago, he would’ve reveled in having her absolute attention, would have groveled at the chance to have her to himself, would’ve even enjoyed that little edge to her words, that bit of haughtiness that so effectively turned him on.  Julia had a way about her that could ensnare a man just as well as it could grate, her utter confidence and sense of always having the upper hand as sexy as it was infuriating.  Even now, as he stood there with evidence in his possession that could absolutely shatter her world, he felt almost insignificant in her presence.  Unimportant.  Powerless. 

She’d always enjoyed having complete control.  And men like him were all too happy to relinquish it.

Perhaps that was about to change. 

Wordlessly, he opened his shoulder bag and pulled the small, tablet-sized recording device from its depths.  He knew her office intimately, knew that all of the walls and windows were soundproof despite their aesthetic design; Julia wouldn’t have it any other way.  So he felt no qualms about placing the device on her desk, illuminating the screen, and scrolling to the previous night’s recording.

He pressed play.

Budd’s voice. His hot, heavy words to her.  Her corresponding moans.  The harsh slap of thrust after thrust, crystal clear in the silence.  Her begging him not to stop, begging him for more, practically groveling as her bodyguard fucked her relentlessly.  Her scream as she climaxed.

It was all there, in high-definition audio. 

Both voices were clearly identifiable. 

Their activities just as unmistakable.

_Let’s see the great Julia Montague squirm her way out of this one._

Rob watched the color drain completely from Julia’s face as the shock of what she was hearing finally registered.  He let the recording play for a few more seconds before pressing stop and straightening to his full height, his heartbeat quick and erratic as the full implication of what he’d just done washed over him in a fell swoop.  He felt lightheaded, shaky, a touch delirious.  Julia just sat there, staring at the device, her body completely still for one endless, terrifying moment. The air between them felt positively viscous, tight with tension.  Neither of them spoke.

Suddenly Julia rose from her chair.  Still not looking at Rob, she strode almost casually over to a small panel on the wall beside the large glass window overlooking the main hall.  Pressing a button, she calmly returned to her chair as sleek, broad silver shades began to lower from the ceiling just above the windowpane.  Those beautiful, steely hazel eyes finally met his, and whatever momentary weakness or shock Rob had witnessed only minutes ago had disappeared entirely.  Julia’s jaw was set, her expression just as neutral as it always was.  She coolly addressed him, placing her arms on the desk surface, fingers clasped together.  The color had fully returned to her face.  It was as if absolutely nothing had just happened.

“Have a seat, Robert.”

 _Oh, she’s goooooooood._ _Brilliant, even._

_Bravo._

He didn’t want to sit.  He wanted her to lose it.  He wanted her to rail against him, to scream at him, to lose her shit over his indiscretions, his deliberate assault on her privacy.  He wanted answers, wanted to know just _what the fuck_ David Joseph Alan Budd possessed that he didn’t have, wanted to know how she could possibly overlook a man who’d treated her like a queen for months on end and quickly fall into bed with some random copper that had simply _done his goddamn job_ when he’d saved her life.  Was that good enough for a woman like her, some brooding pretty boy with a fucked-up marriage, with a couple of scars and a few heroic feats to his name?  That was good enough for her, the great and impeccable and unbearably sophisticated Julia Montague?  A man the likes of David Budd was worth losing everything over?

Rob stood his ground, furious at her, furious at himself for ever having feelings for her.  “I’d rather stand, if that’s okay with you.”  His words held an edge of malice.

Far from being bothered by his volatile response, Julia merely arched an eyebrow.  A corner of her mouth raised slightly, as if she were secretly amused by Rob’s sudden show of uncharacteristic bravado.  “Fine.  Where shall we start?”

Her lack of ire, of any sort of personal concern, was completely throwing Rob for a loop.  He swallowed hard, harboring the disconcerting feeling that he was a mouse being directly fed into a trap just out of view; that there was some glaring aspect of this he hadn’t considered in his rash, impulsive decision to confront her.  He felt his palms begin to sweat. 

“Well…we can start with how cavalier you seem about ruining your entire political career for the chance to shag your PPO.  Rather cliché, don’t you think?  I’ll admit, I thought more highly of you.”

Julia rolled her eyes then, letting out a short laugh devoid of any sort of humor.  She looked down her nose at him.  “That’s quite rich, Robert.  Especially coming from a man who believes that tricking women into dating him, specifically his highly-disinterested boss, is perfectly acceptable behavior.  Anything else?”

Rob’s face felt hot.   He leaned in closer, fighting for control, his next words spoken through clenched teeth.  “I could leak this to the press right now, end your bid for Prime Minister in seconds.  You’d be a laughing stock, Julia…the scandal this would produce would be in the media crosshairs for months.  The Right Honorable Julia Montague, next leader of the United Kingdom, flawless in every way, giving it up to her married protection officer on a nightly basis.  Not only that, begging for it.  You’d never live it down,” he sneered, regaining more of his initial anger and gratified to see a bit of heat rising in Julia’s cheeks despite maintaining her stoic expression.  “And for what?  All the work I’ve put in for you, that the staff has put in for years and years, all gone to shit over your precious boy toy?”

His words echoed in the space for one long, terrible moment.  

Rob felt acutely aware that he’d arrived at a point of no return.  He’d made a threat, shown his cards, had thrown in an insult or two for good measure.  Shouldn’t he feel great right now? Going over this precise moment again and again in his mind this morning, he’d wrongly assumed it would feel more like a victory, like sweet vindication for the humiliation she’d subjected him to.  Like a surefire ticket to igniting his ambitions, or at the very least a way to manipulate a very, very powerful woman.  Suddenly, he wasn’t so sure.

The Home Secretary had barely said a word since learning of his transgressions.  Yet what was becoming abundantly clear was that this was a woman with a spine of steel, who took shit from no one, who wouldn’t be put off by any threat in her path, real or idle.  He’d thought he overestimated her before, but looking into her eyes told him everything he needed to know.  Despite all of his machinations, his shady deals, his attempt to take her down a few notches, he saw how truly mistaken his efforts were.

Julia Montague would be relinquishing no power today.

She suddenly stood, her tall frame unfolding from the chair; she was taller than Rob in heels, and light-years more intimidating in that instant.  Her casual affect was still in place, yet he felt more anxious than ever as she endeavored to stand directly in front of him, dark eyes boring into his. 

Rob couldn’t look away if he tried.  The trap was set.

“I take it you’re finished with your little display,” Julia began evenly, “so allow me to educate you on a few fronts.”  She crossed her arms and continued to stare him down before proceeding.  “Your little surveillance project is entirely illegal, and I’m certain I do not need to remind you that I was the top criminal barrister in London for over a decade.  In fact, I wrote and helped enact the surveillance law you’ve so soundly, stupidly broken.  The penalty involves jail time for up to 8 years per violation pending a hearing, and I can assure you that you will serve every last minute of that sentence in penitentiary.”

Rob felt his mouth go entirely dry.  Julia continued, her calm tone never deviating even as she sharpened her words.  She remained collected, going in for the kill, holding back nothing.

“What was heard on that recording took place between two consenting adults.  And frankly, it’s really nobody’s business who I choose to sleep with.  This is really about your pathetic insecurities, your inability to handle the fact that I simply didn’t want you, nor will I ever welcome your romantic overtures.  But you will **not** disrespect PS Budd to make up for your misgivings, or stoke your little schoolboy jealousies.  He’s easily ten times the man you’ll ever be. And needless to say, one hell of a lover.  I’ll freely admit I’m enjoying myself.”

 _Wow.  Straight for the jugular._ He blanched at her boldness, eyes widening in shock.  Nonplussed, Julia went on, gaining steam as she methodically picked him apart.

“Finally, I am certain that whoever put you up to this has no issue allowing you to take the fall.  Security Service, Metro Police, whomever.  They know that you are collateral damage, chum for the sharks, meaningless in the bigger picture.”  There was something approaching pity in her eyes, yet she continued on.  “And judging by just how impulsive you were, bursting into my office and baldly incriminating yourself, I take it you’ve gone rogue.”

He gaped openly, stuck between being amazed at how clearly she’d read him and dismayed at the fact that he hadn’t connected the dots himself and come to the obvious conclusion.

Rob was being used, pure and simple.  Being played.  There was never an upper hand for him to gain.  Mike knew him well, had stoked his ambitions and knew he had a weakness for Julia, and was openly willing to exploit both in gaining his cooperation.  And in his blatant jealousy, his desire for revenge, he’d completely neglected to cover his own arse.  There were no official ties between him and the Security Service, at least none that he’d be able to point to in a legal battle.  He had much less to gain, and pretty much everything to lose. 

She must’ve seen this dawning, painful realization on his face, for her next words were chosen carefully and spoken with a decidedly less punitive tone.

“Let it go, Robert,” Julia said, tilting her head to one side and regarding him with a tired sort of resignation.  “We both know that this was never about politics for you.  It was personal.  And I know what I’m dealing with.  Do you suppose you’re the first man to attempt to bring me down, or try to ‘put me in my place’?  They’ve all failed.  So will you.  And you really don’t have it in you to get your hands truly, irreversibly dirty. Walk away.”

He couldn’t argue with a word of what she’d said; every bit of it true, every aspect of it logical and sound.  Standing silently, Rob bowed his head, having the decency to at least feel a bit ashamed at his actions.

With that, Julia shrugged.  Unfolding her arms, she walked back around her desk to sit down before folding her hands together and leaning forward.  Her tone was pragmatic as she made her requests.  “Destroy your recordings.  Remove your surveillance equipment.  Do what you have to do to get your hands clean again.   They’ll eat you alive if you don’t, believe me.  I won’t press charges, nor fire you for insubordination.  This will remain between us.  But don’t EVER presume to cross me again.”  She gestured towards the offending recorder with evident disdain.  “I’ll be keeping this.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Rob nodded, appropriately chastened.  Despite how shrewd and calculating his boss was, it still surprised him to no end to glimpse her softer approach at times, especially to those who deserved little mercy.  Letting him walk away from the mess he’d created was tantamount to a reprieve from death row; Rob felt gratitude slowly welling up inside, resolving to take her advice and get out of the ‘spy’ game for good. Sheepishly gathering his belongings, he slung his shoulder bag on and prepared to leave.

The shades were being raised.  The day would proceed normally.  Julia Montague had emerged from this encounter entirely unscathed, as poised as ever. 

And Rob still looked like shit. 

His credit card was still maxed out, to the tune of 15,000 quid.  _Dear God._

The woman he couldn’t help but still admire, even after all that had transpired, apparently had an amazing sex life that had fuck-all to do with him.

In the end, it had really all been for nothing. 

But at the very least he’d gained an even greater respect for, and loyalty to, his boss.  Julia seemed willing to protect him from at least part of the fallout…and sure, from a certain point of view, having him remain an ally was also chiefly in her best interests.  Ever the politician, she’d have ample leverage to use should he ever so much as step out of line again.  The way she’d chosen to handle this debacle had been pitch-perfect, ultimately flawless in its execution.  Despite himself, Rob couldn’t help but respect the hustle.

Nor had he ever possessed greater incentive to mind his own damned business from here on out.

_No more office romances.  Time to hit the online dating sites again, Rob._

He hesitated at the door, turning back to watch as Julia settled back into activity, head already down and buried in her notes.  It needed to be said.   Rob forced it out despite the lump in his throat, his voice wavering with remorse.

“I’m truly sorry, Julia.”

She looked up at the sound of his apology, pausing for a moment to take it in before briskly nodding her acceptance.  “Right.  Let’s get back to work.  Find Mike and send him in,” Julia commanded before reabsorbing herself in the files before her.  All business, no-nonsense.  Still undeniably turned him on, even after their dramatic history together.  

Julia would likely always have that effect, and he’d just have to live with it. Though he’d always wish there’d been more between them, a working relationship would have to do.

Time, at last, to move on.

* * *

Rob stepped out into the hallway, exhaling deeply and gathering himself before seeking out Mike.  Beyond Julia’s request, he had his own personal reasons to do so.  Disentangling himself from this web of lies and secrecy wouldn’t be easy, he knew, and there were powers at work that were likely far more sinister than he could possibly comprehend.  His adrenaline from the confrontation still coursed through his body as he made his way down the corridor, now tinged with fear at the repercussions of pulling out of the ‘arrangement’ he’d made.

The Security Service was a notoriously tight-lipped group, and anyone invited into their circle was subject to very harsh treatment should they defy their ranks in any fashion.  Rob had no idea what was to come, what he was about to risk by withdrawing his involvement; he might be facing consequences far beyond what he could handle. He shivered inwardly at that last thought, feeling truly afraid for the very first time.  This could all backfire spectacularly, cost him dearly in the short or long term.

But he had no choice but to take the first step.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter, everybody!!! The only thing that's been even more of a blast than writing this zany story over the past few weeks is reading all of your lovely, hilarious reactions and comments, and I can't thank each and every one of you enough for supporting it and sending so much awesome encouragement along the way. Please enjoy this final slice of Rob's pathetically jealous adventures, and thanks so, so much for reading.
> 
> Rob's thoughts in italics; it belongs to Jed. Warnings for a wee bit of violence. And without further ado...

 

* * *

As it turned out, Mike had been called away on an emergency meeting at Parliament he was attending in Julia’s stead.  His dashed-off e-mail frustratingly gave little insight into how long he’d be occupied with those matters; Rob had tried to hang around the office for a little longer than usual, hoping to catch him before he left for the evening. 

No such luck.

He gave up around 8 PM and hailed a cab back to his flat, positively exhausted, leaning his head against the window and staring glumly out at the crowds of Londoners heading out that evening to christen the weekend at various pubs and eateries.  Young and old frolicked about in the cool autumn evening, faces animated, bodies in sync with their counterparts as they flowed easily through the streets.  Rob couldn’t honestly remember when he’d last gotten out with friends, had a pint on a Friday night with a bunch of chums and simply had a good time.  Falling for Julia and courting her favor meant making a concerted effort at all times to appear eagerly available, and he’d been more than willing to drop it all in an effort to stay relevant on her radar.  The rest of his social life simply hadn’t existed in the meantime, and now that every single avenue to her heart (or at least benefiting from his close proximity to her) had essentially imploded, Rob realized just how empty his life had become.  There was, quite literally, nothing to go home to.

 _That’s not a depressing thought in the least._ He sighed heavily _._

The sun had gone down ages ago, straight rows of streetlamps lending a slightly eerie glow to the surrounding areas.  It took longer than usual to push through the evening traffic and get to the quieter suburban neighborhood Rob resided in; he’d never felt so relieved to see the dented red metal of his front door in the entirety of his adult life. 

The day, as rubbish and awful as it was, had officially come to a close.  Ending his stint as an agent of espionage obviously had to wait, but he could at least try to get his mind off of the whole Julia affair that night, perhaps watch a movie and relax.  No longer possessing the recorder meant that his part in the surveillance operation was essentially over:  he’d try, however, to retrieve the three microphones he’d planted in the Blackwood Hotel sometime that weekend.  Julia, after all, had made the request.  Surely she wouldn’t mind him coming by to do so, though the visit was bound to be bloody awkward and highly unpleasant.  _And the fun continues…_

Pulling out his keys, Rob let his mind go as he jiggled them in his hands, searching for the right one by touch while he simultaneously mused about ordering takeaway for the night.  He obviously wouldn’t be ordering double-roasted duck (much too soon), but perhaps that new Indian curry place around the corner had some good offerings.  Offhandedly, he found it strange that his front porch light had burned out yet again; he’d been much too busy the past few months, but he could swear that it’d been replaced within the last couple of weeks.  _Reminder to whinge about it later to the landlord, Rob…as if there isn’t enough going on already. Brilliant._

Finally feeling the correct key between his fingers, he pushed it into the lock and turned, the door opening easily.  Pocketing the keys, he fumbled for his phone with one hand while pushing the door with another—

Two strong hands suddenly shoved him from behind with incredible force, Rob’s face colliding violently with the door before his entire body crashed onto the floor of the front hall.  Dazed and shocked, Rob scrambled fearfully in the dark for something to grab ahold of, feeling warm blood spurt from his nose in a torrent.  His unknown assailant stalked into the house, fully closing the door and plunging the entire hall into utter blackness before he felt those same two strong hands haul him up effortlessly and slam him into the nearest wall.

_NO NO NO…PLEASE…GOD NO._

_Not like this._

Sure as he knew his own name, he knew it was the Security Service.  Coming to rough him up, to lay hands on him in an attempt to ensure his silence.  Somebody knows.  JULIA knows.  They know what I told her.  Of course they do. Her office was likely bugged, too. 

FUCK.

“NO, please don’t, I can explain!” Rob rushed out, literally shaking, barely breathing as the pressure on his chest didn’t relent for a second.  Whatever he’d said was clearly falling on deaf ears, if the forearm suddenly pressed against his throat were any indication.  Choking with the increased pressure, he vainly struggled even as his eyes tried to adjust to the darkness. He could hear his attacker breathing, could clearly tell it was a bloke, but couldn’t honestly see a thing.  “Please don’t hurt me—”

His plea was cut short as he was manhandled into the adjacent living room and roughly pushed forward.  “We’re going to have a little chat.  Turn on the lights.”

Rob knew that voice.  Without a doubt. 

It was unmistakable.

That accent.  Glaswegian to a fault.

_Shit._

He now knew it wasn’t the Security Service.  And he also knew that just the mere thought of facing off with the actual owner of said voice held possibilities that were just as deadly. 

_Shit Shit Shit SHIT…_

* * *

 

Head reeling and still bleeding profusely, Rob hurriedly felt for the wall in the vicinity of where the switch should be and flicked on the light.

David Budd stood there, in all his furious glory.

“Please, mate—”

“I’ll stop you right there,” Budd interrupted fiercely, his pronounced brogue trembling with barely-suppressed rage.  “We are not mates.  Never will be.”

“I—”

“Sit.  Down.” The force of the words held absolutely no room for argument, malevolence at full tilt in the younger man’s hardened glare as he stared Rob into submission.  Dressed in a dark green jacket and black jeans, dark curls falling raggedly over a pale brow and fists clenched, Budd loomed menacingly over him as he shrank back and stumbled over a chair before sitting quickly.  Hands raised and nose still freely bleeding, he stayed frozen in place as Budd quickly pulled another chair directly in front of where he sat, never once relinquishing his watchful scowl.

Rob shuddered beneath the unrelenting scrutiny, oddly realizing at that precise moment that despite his recent fixations centered around the sergeant, he’d never before been subject to the likes of David Budd directly, had never ever had an actual conversation with him, had never even attempted to sort him out man-to-man.  Actual threats of potential violence notwithstanding, the vibe coming from Budd was intimidating in the extreme.  There was something a little unhinged about him, some subliminal fury that seemed barely leashed beneath the cool, carefully controlled façade. All those muscles he’d detected beneath the normally crisp suits now seemed even more pronounced beneath casual wear, as if he were poised to strike out instantly; the set of his shoulders and chest broad and square beneath the jacket, the thick strength of his legs evident through tight denim.  To say nothing of Budd’s (still stupidly handsome) face: his angular features were taut, jaw clenched, the occasional muscle twitching near his mouth as those narrowed icy eyes -- _God, those eyes are INTENSE—_ effectively nailed him to his chair.

Budd just watched him for a long, calculating moment, saying absolutely nothing. 

Rob was scared shitless nonetheless.

_I might’ve preferred the Security Service to this bloke.  Probably much less intimidating._

He held his breath warily as the officer finally sat down, keeping his hands raised in an effort to protect himself and offer the guise of non-verbal appeasement.

“Hands down.”  Rob complied with startling alacrity, sparing a moment to dab at his mutilated, bloody nose with his tie.  He peered nervously at the sergeant, waiting to see what he’d do next.

Budd leaned in, his expression never once changing as he pulled a small plastic bag out of his jacket pocket.  Three small, black devices roughly the size of quarters lay inside, Rob’s stomach twisting in apprehension as he recognized the contents instantly.  “Who gave you these?”

“I, uh—”

“You don’t want to lie to me, Mr. MacDonald,” Budd warned in a tone that left no doubt as to the consequences for doing so.  He shifted forward, getting more in Rob’s face as his expression grew even darker.  “You pulled my file weeks ago.  You know exactly what I’m capable of.  Do you really want to test me right now?”

 _Oh God, he knows about that!?_ Rob babbled, stalling a bit for time, mind racing as he tried to deduce what he could divulge safely.  “I didn’t know what they were looking for,” he confessed, not giving away his hand entirely just yet.  “I was…coerced into planting the devices.”

“Bullshit,” Budd retorted instantly.  “It’s not coercion if you were willing to do it to get ahead, to offer access to Julia to your own ends.”

_He called her Julia._

Something nasty came over Rob then, some smoldering remnant of the extreme jealousy he’d felt overtaking his fear momentarily.  He dared to take a different tone with the sergeant out of pure, unfettered spite, consequences be damned. 

“Am I to understand that you’re _**not**_ using her, Sergeant Budd?  Perhaps not to get ahead.  But for other…shall we say, questionable reasons?”

The question barely came out before a strong, lethal hand shot out, grabbing him by the throat. Budd yanked him up before slamming him so hard against the wall that Rob saw stars, felt the breath abruptly knocked out of him as several glass wall frames fell to the floor and smashed on impact.  Blunt fingers squeezed, practically crushing his windpipe as he choked and sputtered, squirming to little effect.  The sergeant only squeezed harder, eyes narrowed, a murderous glint in his unflinching stare. 

To say Rob regretted his choice immediately was the understatement of the century.

Verbally sparring with the likes of a haughty yet diplomatic Julia Montague was one thing.

Pissing off a fully-trained veteran turned officer in David Budd, with ice in his veins and the ability to kill someone with his bare hands, was proving to be quite another.

“You really don’t want to be going there, ‘mate’,” Budd murmured dangerously.  “We’re going to try this again.  And if you say another fucking word out of turn, this conversation will end.  Permanently.  Am I understood?”

Rob couldn’t breathe, nodding vigorously as he struggled for air.  Budd relinquished him then, turning away for a moment to regain control as Rob slid down to the floor with a heavy thud, gasping and coughing uncontrollably. 

“Get up.  Sit down.  I want honest, straight answers.  Nothing else from here on out.”

If he wanted to live, Rob came to the grim conclusion that he had no choice but to comply.  Regretting his complete and utter inability to throw a punch, let alone fight, he gingerly got himself up and onto the chair, careful to avoid all of the broken glass surrounding him. 

His resolve was firm in that precise moment.  Once his nose got rearranged back to its approximate normal state, he was enrolling himself into kickboxing classes immediately. 

Budd sat down, resuming his line of questioning.  “Let’s try this again.  The microphones.  Names.  Motives.”

Rob shook his head, stuttering out an answer when he saw Budd’s face tighten aggressively.  “M-Mi-Mike Travis. He’s the Deputy Home Secretary, the closest official privy to Julia’s work and commitments.”

The younger officer shook his head, clearly looking for more.  “He might be another fall guy.  Neither of you would ever have access to equipment this sophisticated.  There’s more you’re not telling me,” he accused quietly, penetrating Rob once again with those unsettling eyes.  “Who else is involved?”

“I don’t know,” Rob admitted, and at least that was the honest truth:  he had absolutely no idea who’d actually furnished the microphones to Mike.  Budd, surprisingly, decided not to press him on that further for the moment.  Leaning back slightly, he appeared to be connecting dots mentally while maintaining his line of questioning.

“Motives?”

“I can’t speak to Mike’s.  But I was promised…certain promotions within the party if I complied,” Rob confessed hesitantly.  “I’d been approached before with similar requests…as you can imagine, the amount of attention the Home Secretary is currently receiving can cause…something of a backlash to form.  Especially if it’s perceived that she’s using that attention to further her goals, instead of the party’s priorities.  She’s creating enemies.”

Budd regarded him seriously, no mirth in his expression.  “And you among them?”

“No!  No, no,” Rob rushed to deny that assumption, his efforts met with very visible skepticism on the part of the officer.  Still, he said nothing, waiting for Rob to explain.  “I never saw Julia as an enemy, and I never will.  Her tactics can grate, her insistence on control can be a real nuisance.  I don’t agree with her splitting the party.  But I don’t consider her an enemy at all.”

“And yet, you willingly spy on her.  Record her private moments.  Destroy her trust, aid her enemies, and still maintain you’re the good guy.”  Budd looked absolutely disgusted, shaking his head at the incredible levels of bullshit he’d just detailed.  “You’ve got a real fucking nerve.”

Rob couldn’t argue with that, hanging his head in response to the much-deserved chiding.

“Why?”

_Like he could ever say WHY.  Not to this guy.  Not in a million years.  It’d be the biggest ego stroke ever recorded in human history._

“I wanted to get ahead,” he replied tepidly.  Not entirely untrue, but not a fully honest account either.  Budd sensed this, angling his head slightly at Rob’s words, that skeptical expression flitting back across his features.  But to his credit, he didn’t press on that front either, choosing to switch gears to a much more personal matter.

“You pulled my file weeks ago from Metro Police’s database.  Why?  And who gave you access?”

Rob sensed that the answer to both of those questions was of even greater importance to the sergeant, as he watched Budd’s expression shift subtly, the blatant anger blending with something approaching real, tangible concern.  This was a sensitive matter.  He’d better tread carefully.

“As elevated staff within the Home Office, we are given certain…resources to call upon if we see fit.  Not investigatory powers, per se, but something close.”

Budd was not at all happy with his answer.  He pressed him again. “Who?  And why?”

Rob hesitated.  However he answered that first question, it was clear heads were going to roll for this one. “There are various people in our IT department skilled in accessing most citywide databases,” he answered finally.  “I put out a query, and it was answered by non-specific sources within the department.  I’m afraid I don’t know who precisely pulled your file.”

A muscle in Budd’s jaw jumped.  He was clenching his teeth, it seemed, fighting for some sort of control over his frustration as he kept pressing.  “And why? Answer the question.”

_He’s really going to make me say it.  Out loud.  Goddammit._

“I…was concerned.  About your proximity to the Home Secretary,” Rob carefully replied, shifting his eyes away from the sergeant guiltily.

“My proximity to the principal,” Budd started with enormous incredulity in his tone, “is literally an integral requirement for my working as her principal protection officer.  I’m sure you realize this.”

“Yes, but…” Rob struggled to explain without giving away the ridiculous depths of his envy regarding the officer directly in front of him.  As it were, Budd was now staring at him with the faintest whiff of detached, pitiable amusement, as if he knew exactly why Rob had made the request and simply wanted him to admit to having such a childish motive.  “I had reason to believe that…the Home Secretary might be more *partial* to you than most.  Pulling your file meant ensuring that she was not granting advantages to someone who would use her position and privilege to get ahead.”

“In the same ways you attempted to, you mean,” Budd responded in a deadpan voice. 

“No!  I mean…yes, in a way—but it was just…I…” Rob was absolutely flailing, drowning yet again in an embarrassing attempt to cover up just how insecure he’d felt about gaining Julia’s affections at any cost.  He sputtered for a few seconds more before the young officer put up a hand to silence him.  Mercifully. 

“I think we both know why you pulled my file,” Budd relented, shaking his head as he leaned back slightly.  He looked down momentarily, pinching the bridge of his nose and letting out an exasperated sigh before focusing back on Rob.  “I think it best that you stop pretending you were doing so in an effort to look out for Julia’s best interests.  And I think we’re both well aware that Julia is a woman who knows exactly what she wants.  She’s more than capable of looking out for herself and making the decisions that are best for her.  Grant her that respect.”

There was absolutely nothing to argue with in the sergeant’s assertions.  Rob felt utterly ashamed, nodding his assent even as he oddly found himself admiring the way Budd had handled that admittedly delicate topic.  Here was a man who had the looks, the obvious abilities, the commendations and real-life attributes of a hero, and the respect of so many, including one Julia Montague.  Hell, he’d literally saved her life.  A man like that could’ve relished the chance to rub Rob’s face in the fact that he’d won the affections of the woman they both cared for, that he likely had done more for Julia in the short time he’d been her bodyguard than Rob had even tried to do over nearly a year of their working relationship. 

Instead, he chose not to. 

And even more, he seemed to demonstrate a deeper understanding of the woman Rob had only dared to idolize all these months.  Seemed to actually care for her, and was clearly advocating for her viewpoints and decisions to be respected.

Though Rob was still all too hesitant to admit it, David Budd just might, by the smallest measure (of course), possibly be a more decent bloke than he was ever willing to see previously.

_You mean all this baseless jealousy and anger were misplaced this whole time, Rob?_

_You mean you might’ve been wrong about him from the start?_

_Truly. Shocking._

Budd seemed satisfied that the sentiments he’d just shared had been absorbed by the remorseful man sitting before him; leaning forward, he endeavored to make his next point heard just as effectively.

“This kind of violation, of pulling my files for your own personal curiosity, may mean absolutely nothing to you, Mr. MacDonald,” he began in a low, serious voice.  “I know what men like you see when you look at the likes of me:  some lower-class bloke with no education, who shows up in a suit with a gun and stands around pretending to be important.  Entirely expendable.  No power, no status.”

Budd paused, as if to confirm his perceptions were true.  All Rob could do was remain silent, his reluctance to speak serving to affirm the truth of what was being shared.  In all honesty, he did hold those prejudices, had written Budd off entirely as an impersonal, menial aspect of their ‘far more important jobs’ as makers of law and policy.  His sense of contrition grew as Budd got to the heart of the matter, beginning to truly understand what was actually at stake for the young officer.

“I have a family to protect.  I need them to be safe, insulated from the dangers my work entails,” Budd explained, real concern evident in his expression.  He looked squarely at Rob, facing him man-to-man, imploring him to understand the riskiness of his actions.  “What little privacy I can maintain around my personal life keeps them alive, unharmed, and out of the line of fire.  I take that very seriously, Mr. MacDonald.  And compromising their safety to smear me over some imaginary rivalry is not only incredibly stupid, it’s dangerous.  Don’t ever do it again, to me or to any other officer.  For any reason.  Ever.  Am I understood?”

Far from simply looking like it, Rob really and truly felt like shit just then, having difficulty keeping eye contact with Budd out of sheer mortification at realizing the severity of his actions.

David Budd wasn’t just an ex-soldier, or a copper.  He was a father, a husband.  He had a family that he obviously cared about. Had Rob really taken all these risks, all these wrong turns, put others in literal danger, in an attempt to woo Julia?  A woman who hadn’t even wanted him in the first place?  

_It’s going to take a looooong time to clear your conscience, Rob.  Goodness.  What a fucking mess._

“Yes.  I will not do it again,” he insisted, raising his hands briefly in dejected surrender. “My honest apologies, Sergeant Budd.”

Budd waited a beat, those penetrating eyes searching Rob and apparently finding little insincerity in his words or demeanor in that moment.  Seeming to accept the conclusions of his perusal, he sat back, a hand slipping into the inner breast of his jacket and producing a small notebook.

“I have some good news for you,” he announced suddenly, flipping through several worn pages of hastily-scrawled text.  Rob startled at the change in tactics, finding himself curious as to what 'good news' could be yielded from this physically and emotionally-taxing encounter.  Finally settling on a particular series of pages, Budd began to read aloud from his written notes.

“Robert John William Douglas MacDonald.  Born in 1976.  Harrow-educated.  Oxford-educated.  BA in Jurisprudence.  Two siblings, both brothers, both younger.  Former leader of the Glee Club in his local county.  Horticulture enthusiast.  Former sommelier for several Michelin-starred restaurants.  1996 and 1998 Champion in Henley Cricket Club tournament.  Member of the Great Britain Philatelic Society for stamp collectors, 15 years running.  Never married, no children.  Connected to one girlfriend in college, no history since.”  Budd closed the notebook decisively, finished with his reading and facing an increasingly irate, puzzled Rob.

“I pulled your file, obviously,” the sergeant replied, answering the unspoken question.  “And as it turns out, you are pretty much the least interesting man in the United Kingdom.”

Rob fumed.  “That was uncalled for, Sergeant Budd,” he protested angrily, unsure just how much pride he’d have left by the end of the week.  Between Julia’s dress-down and this bloke’s assurance that he was, indeed, the most boring man in Britain, he was pretty much on empty. 

Budd decided to explain himself further, a corner of his mouth actually pulling into a tiny, wry smirk, though he remained utterly stern otherwise.  “That is literally the only thing you’ve got going for you, Mr. MacDonald.  I do threat assessment for a living.  Anything or anyone that comes across my radar as a threat to the principal is taken seriously.  And I neutralize those threats using any means necessary.” 

His level gaze landed on Rob, who shivered involuntarily.  “You are not a real threat, at least not right now. I know a fall guy when I see one.  I know what blokes like you do in the name of ambition. I don’t waste my time with them; it takes so little to make them flip.  No, I go after the ones pulling the strings.”

Rob gulped, for once actually grateful that he was considered a non-threatening bore by all well-established standards.  Budd leaned in once more, transfixing him with a glare so direct that the momentary relief he’d felt vanished at once.

“I want to be clear.  You are not off the hook for this.  The investigation is ongoing.  If I dig deeper and find out that you’re still involved in this, a broken nose will be the least of your problems.  If I ever find out you’re pulling my files again, or those of my team, our next conversation will be very, VERY different.  And if you ever, in any way, set out to harm Julia again or aid anyone else intending to harm her, you will officially become a threat.  And I will neutralize any and all threats to protect my principal. Without hesitation.”  The tone in his voice left no room for further interpretation.

_I’m dead.  Got it loud and clear.  Let’s commit to staying uninteresting, Rob.  Please._

Budd got up then, squaring his shoulders, his questioning done for the moment.  “Mr. MacDonald,” he intoned in parting, stepping on shards of broken glass on his way back to the front door.  “You might want to get that nose looked at.  And should I have any further questions, I’ll be paying you another visit.”  He leveled another pointed look in Rob’s direction before turning the hallway corner and disappearing into the night, the door slamming shut behind him.

“Great. Thanks. Been a pleasure, Sergeant Budd,” Rob muttered under his breath at the departed officer.  Two run-ins in one day with two of the deadliest people in London.  Julia, with her razor-sharp tongue and rapier-like intelligence.  David Budd, with his…everything else, literally.  Even the man’s eyes are practically weaponized; they alone could probably kill a person quite easily.  _Good grief._

No more excitement.  No more spying.  He’d hunt Mike down this weekend if he had to.  Rob wanted OUT, in all the worst ways, and he’d make it clear to anyone who’d listen that any attempts to bring him back in or implicate him would result in their own special visit from Police Sergeant David Budd, hopefully complete with a midnight ambush and their own broken appendages to deal with.

Rob shut off the lights in the living room, avoiding the wreckage of his ruined frames as he miserably dragged his way to the bathroom down the hall.  If he thought he looked like shit before, the reflection he saw in the mirror now considerably upgraded that initial assessment.  Stuffing loads of cotton up his nose, he then took the longest shower imaginable and fixed himself some slightly stale toast with marmite for supper.  He made one last call to Mike, leaving him one long, detailed message before blessedly climbing into bed and pulling the sheets over his aching head.

* * *

  **Epilogue**

The halls were dark, the Home Office long since officially closed for the evening. 

Mike sat uneasily, playing the message he’d received from Rob on his speakerphone.  Why his subordinate’s voice sounded like an injured, wheezing goose practically taking its last dying breath, he had absolutely no clue.  But the contents of the message were much more important than the oddly-strained voice leaving it.

“He wants out,” Mike heaved in frustration, “and it sounds like the police have gotten to him.  Trusting him with surveillance was an utter disaster.  He’s weak, simpering after Julia like an utter fool.  For God’s sake, he never even planted the bloody devices!  We’ve wasted precious time trying to bring him into the fold.  This is sensitive enough as it is.  And having an officer like Budd protect Julia 24/7 is only going to make things harder from here on out.”  He breathed hard in the aftermath of his diatribe, anger at his subordinate mixed with the acute fear of having let down the man who now stood before him.

Stern and silent, tall and incredibly imposing, the man loomed in the shadows beyond Mike’s office desk.  Stepping forward slowly, he pulled a device from his pocket similar in size and shape to the recorder Mike had furnished to Rob weeks ago, brandishing it, a knowing gleam visible in his sinister eyes.

“You’re quite mistaken, Mr. Travis,” the unknown gentleman corrected, his dry, gravelly voice rumbling through the room.  “On the contrary.  Mr. MacDonald did *exactly* what we needed him to do.  Of course, he has no knowledge that we have duplicates of the recorder he appears to have surrendered, that they contain the exact same…shall we say, compromising material.”

Mike’s eyes widened; he hadn’t been privy to the knowledge that Rob had planted anything, let alone that the plant had yielded valuable material so quickly.  He attempted to ask questions regarding the material but relented instantly, the anonymous man intercepting Mike’s effort with a raised hand as if to waive off all further queries. 

“I think it best that we at the Security Service keep the contents under wraps for now,” he said decisively, his tone brokering no room for counterargument.  “Mr. MacDonald may back away—for now.  We can always rope men like him back in at a later time, plant something on him and make it stick.”   

The dark figure nodded gravely at Mike, pocketing the device before retreating back into the shadows.  He walked across the room and reached the door, the barest sliver of his lined face illuminated by the dim light of the hallway as he turned back to the Deputy Home Secretary.

“Everything is under control, Mr. Travis,” he reassured with finality.  “As long as the Home Secretary continues to view us solely as allies of her upcoming bid, she’ll continue to grant us access to everything necessary to take her down.  And she’s acquired a very handsome, very unstable fall guy in the process.  That may be quite useful in the bigger picture.”

With that, the man departed, his footfalls loud and ominous in the empty building.  Mike let out the breath he’d held for some time, tension wracking his form as he considered just *who* he was now in league with.  Try as he might to continue justifying the means, his conscience felt unbearably heavy with dread.  And he knew why.

Rob was a pawn. A tool, in the end.  He’d be used, dismantled as they saw fit, discredited, and discarded.

Apparently, Sergeant Budd was fair game, too.  A decorated war veteran, an officer with the highest honors possible, would have his name dragged through the muck without remorse.  Have his honor stripped, his family ruined in the name of political greed, the voracious fight for power and influence being waged at all costs.

And Mike knew, as he gathered his belongings and prepared to leave that night, that it was only a matter of time before the game he was playing brought him down, too. 

Nobody was safe.  Absolutely no one.

Mike made a quick retreat, eyes roaming restlessly through the darkened, eerie halls as he made his way out of the building and into the chilly night.

 


End file.
